The Familiar of Arc
by Soulfulbard
Summary: Failing magic school student Jaune Arc had one more chance to prove himself as a mage in the form of summoning a powerful familiar in Beacon Academy's rite of passage. Things get complicated though when instead of a simple magical beast, he gets the Iron Demon General of Hell's legions, Pyrrha Nikos. The school year is going to get very interesting.
1. The Arc

**The Familiar of Arc**

**Chapter 1 – ****The Arc**

The crack of a something hard against an oak desk snapped Jaune Arc out of a stupor on the edge of sleep. His sobering mind thanks its lucky stars that it had. After all, falling asleep in Lecture Hall Sirius, the lair of the most feared professor at Beacon Academy of the Arcane Arts, was a death sentence for the soul.

That woman had a death glare that put irate mothers and librarians to shame. And her scoldings… well Jaune imagined that part of the reason the Old Voices were gone was because Goodwitch had firmly told them it was either fade away or spend a detention with her.

So it was a very good thing that a loud noise had kept him from nodding off and drawing her ire.

Ever so slowly, the gossamer mists of sleep retreated from around his thinking mind and dots began to get connected. That sound… that sound was familiar. It was Goodwitch's wand hitting her desk. She did this when she was demanding attention, settling the class down, or reprimanding someone.

His eyes leapt from his notebook and rushed to the little stage at the head of the room where the good professor's desk was situated.

Too late.

"Mister Arc." Goodwitch's voice was as sharp as a sword, slashing through the air to strike their target with the proverbial force of an Impactor spell.

He froze. It was as if some deep, hidden part of his brain thought perhaps Goodwitch couldn't see him if he didn't move. This was an utterly stupid notion, discarded just as quickly as it came. He then proceeded to attempt something just as stupid: playing innocent.

"Yes, Professor?" The slur of sleep tainted his voice, betraying him even in the unlikely event that she bought the act.

Goodwitch's glare intensified, seeking to burn through his forehead and out the back of his skull. Then it swept across the room like a scythe. "I am fully aware that this day is both the first day of classes following the semester break as well as one truncated by the Familiar Summoning Ceremony. Most of you have spent a full month now back at the estates of your parents and benefactors away from the responsibilities and discipline placed upon you here.

"Need I remind you that you _are_ once again within the hallowed halls of the most prestigious school for the study of the arcane sciences on the continent? That you are in training to become mages: those who alter and weave the very fabric of reality? In each of your futures rest the hopes, dreams and prosperity of your respective noble houses and guildhalls. Lax attitudes and inattention can destroy you and everything you care or work for."

The class reacted with sheepish looks and glances away from their professor. She was right and they knew it, though one or a thousand tongue-lashings wouldn't cow youthful exuberance for long.

Satisfied, Goodwitch returned her attentions to Jaune. "Now. Mr. Arc, since you so clearly do not require my refresher lecture, then please come down here and demonstrate for the class our final project from last semester: the Far Reach."

Jaune stifled a groan so as not to dig himself deeper and scrubbed a hand through a head of scraggly blonde hair. He knew this was his own doing. Goodwitch, however fierce, was fair in her dealings and usually didn't call on him for demonstrations because she didn't believe in embarrassing him.

And it would embarrass him. She, he and every one else in the class knew that this would end in failure. Not so much because he couldn't perform the spell, but because he couldn't control the mana he poured into it.

The Arc magical legacy was one of massive stores of the energy that powered spells and Jaune had the 'luck' of having reserves that dwarfed even his esteemed family's. Which would be great if one's magical fine control wasn't akin to threading a needle while wearing boxing gloves. In Jaune's case, casting a spell with his mana reserves was like trying to fill a thimble but pouring water out of a bathtub. The effects on common spells were often dramatic and disappointing.

Gods turn and Voices scream, he really didn't deserve it this time. He was tired for a good reason! A reason even Goodwitch would approve of if she didn't just assume it was an excuse. Head hung as if awaiting the gallows, Jaune rose from his aisle seat and started making his way down the carpeted stairs to the stage.

"Um… Professor?" A small, nervous voice came from the back row. The speaker was a small young lady, obviously younger than the late teens of everyone surrounding her. She had short back hair, dyed black at the tips and had augmented the typical blouse-blazer-skirt uniform all the girls wore with a red cape adorned with her personal sigil: a rose defined by red petals surrounded by negative space. As soon as the words were out of her mouth, she shrank back as if Goodwitch would send a fireball up to punish her for the interruption.

Ruby Rose. One of Jaune's best friends and someone he wish would just let him hang rather than bring Goodwitch's wrath upon her trying to help him. And for a second, for her hesitation, he thought maybe she would get away without admonishment.

Then Ruby's sister, Yang just had to butt in. Sitting beside Ruby, it was hard to tell just by sight that Yang was related in any way to young Ruby. Tall and well-built beside her sister's slight frame, Yang had voluminous golden hair and her own uniform was a strategically rumpled mess with the tie worn loose beneath an unbuttoned blazer with enough undone toggles on the blouse beneath. Her expression was one of encouragement as she goaded her sister on with a gentle elbow to the side.

So pressed, Ruby squeaked and continued, "I don't think this is such a good idea. Jaune was up really late this weekend and—"

Goodwitch brought her up short with a raised hand. The previous half-year had seen the two sisters from the tiny island territory of Patch offer up numerous excuses from the sole male scion of the Arc name. It wasn't that she didn't appreciate the loyalty—in fact, that was one of the founding principles of Beacon dating back to when it rose from the ashes of the previous Magi War. No, she was simply disappointed that they were choosing some weekend tomfoolery to defend. Not only that, but as hard as he had to struggle to make even the slightest headway in his classes, Jaune himself should have known better.

"Miss Rose, this is not the time nor the place. Mister Arc is more than capable of facing the consequences of his actions without making excuses." She saw the concern on her pupil's face. Previous incidents early in the first semester when it came to the Arc lad using magic in front of the class gave good reason to be wary, so she was quick to reassure both Ruby and the class as a whole.

"Nevertheless, I will be warding the area here against any mishaps that might occur." As hard but fair as she liked to portray, it did make her stomach drop to see the grimace Jaune tried to suppress upon hearing this. She more than almost anyone at the school knew that it wasn't the young man's fault. Fate had chanced to make his birthright into a curse.

She knew he was trying though, and that's why she pressed him so hard. To be ushered ever onward, no matter how impossible, was preferable to be coddled to immediate failure. If it were possible for Jaune Arc to succeed, she would try everything in her power to get him there. Even if he didn't like it.

As soon as Jaune reached the stage, Goodwitch opened a drawer in her desk and produced a brass bell, which she placed on the floor before her in full view of the classroom. Then she raised her wand; a length of rolled, hardened leather just shy of the length of her forearm and swept the tip through the air in a complex pattern.

A curtain of blue-white energy shimmered briefly into existence along the circumference of the stage before fading from view. Unbeknownst to the students, she had cast this force shield with additional reinforcement—just in case.

With her preparations made, she nodded to Jaune and then the bell. "This will be a simple task for the Far Reach. Lift the bell to chest height and ring it. Then put it down."

Jaune glanced to her helplessly. They both knew what was coming. Goodwitch nodded for him to continue and after taking a deep breath, he drew his wand from his belt and leveled it at the bell. The training wands were all the same: six and a half supple inches of willow bound with silver rings and capped with the same.

As expertly as any of the other students, he traced the pattern for Far Reach in the air, then focused on filling that pattern with magic. Normally, the wand patterns were invisible to all but very specific detection spells. But as a flood of mana from Jaune's overstocked reserves swiftly overflowed the parameters of the spell, it blazed with brilliant azure light so bright that none in the room could stand to look directly at it.

The bell, the focus of the Far Reach, vibrated where it stood. The clapper tinkled against the brass walls, barely audible.

And then the bell shot straight up like a fire rocket with a sound like a small explosion. There was a blue flash as it struck the top of the force shield and clattered to the floor. One side had been hammered flat from the sheer force.

Certain sections of the class gasped at the violence of what just transpired. Others burst into laughter.

Jaune, unable to keep himself from glancing up into the group, picked out a chosen few whose opinions mattered more to him than others. His two best and only friends; the Patch sisters were both wincing in sympathy. Then, despite his knowing better than to look, his gaze traveled to the front row.

There, in all her beauty and dignity sat Weiss Schnee; second to the foremost noble house of the Kingdom of Atlas and first in his dreams. Albeit, those dreams usually didn't involve so much of her turning up her nose at him as if he were something rakes out of the stables as she was doing at the moment. Sadly, reality featured that expression quite often.

His stomach rolled, unhappy at just everything about his life just then.

Goodwitch's voice cut through the laughter, killing it where it tried to linger. "Thank you Mister Arc, that will be all. Class, I will hear no jeering, as this stands as a valuable lesson to us all. Vigilance in your training and especially your physical health is nearly as important as keeping up with one's studies. Such a mishap could happy to any of you—with dangerous results."

Before Jaune was halfway through with his long, shameful climb back to where his seat was, she concluded. "However, there is another important milestone we must attend to shortly: the summoning of your familiars. Class shall dismiss early today so you may all make what I am quite sure will be last minute preparations."

With one last, sharp nod, she released her students to do as they needed.

For his part, Jaune ignored his fellow students as they filed past him. Feeling hollow and still tired, he packed up his books into his satchel, careful to avoid bending the two leather folios already there. Those were the reason for his current exhaustion—and hopefully the keys to his future.

To his surprise, the Patch sisters were waiting when he finally exited the lecture hall.

Yang pushed off the wall opposite the door and gave him her classic big, cheesy grin. "Tough break, Jaune-boy. Too bad Goodwitch decided to be Rhymes-With-Witch today, huh?"

Offering a shrug, Jaune started off toward the hall that would take them to the courtyard. "Kind of bought it on myself. But thanks for the support in there. Both of you."

Ruby zoomed to his side as Yang trotted along just a step behind. "But why didn't you explain? I mean if she knew you stayed up pretty much all weekend studying and working, she would have gone way softer on you."

"If she believed me," Jaune pointed out. "But when's the last time I lost sleep working hard on schoolwork? Or technically had to. From anyone else may it'd be believable, but I'm just the screw-up coasting on my name and the fact I'm related to…" he paused, choosing his words carefully… "one of the school's founders."

Behind him, Yang had crossed her arms behind her head, idly watching the veins in the marble of the ceiling go by. "Which makes me wonder why you're trying so hard now in the first place. You're the only one here who can't be kicked out. Free ride all the way. And you're what? Eighth in line for being head of your house? There's no way you're ever going to be _needed_ to do anything, so why do it?"

Jaune's grip tightened on his bag. "Because maybe I want to be needed. Or wanted. Just once. Everyone else in my family's useful. Everyone here is useful. The whole point of being an Arc is being useful. Being a hero. Being the companion of a hero. Throwing this giant sea of magic we've got inside us around when people need it."

He lowered his head and added darkly, "You know, without something exploding or going shooting off into the middle distance. I need to prove myself. And I can't just say it like I say my name's Arc." He opened the satchel and pulled out both folios. "And these are how I can do it. An actual top-grade treatise on the Old Voices and their influence on magic and most importantly, my familiar summoning spell."

Trying to look supportive, Ruby couldn't hide her pensive expression. "Um, Jaune? I don't know how to put this, but… well how exactly are you going to summon a familiar?"

Yang caught up, moving to the other side of Ruby from Jaune. "Yeah, I've been wondering this all weekend when you were talking about this. You overcharge every spell you try and they go haring off every which way. Remember when your Animus enchantment made the mop vibrate out of existence? Won't your familiar pop like a soap bubble or something? No offense."

A bit of pride entered Jaune's expression as he brandished the folios. "That's exactly the point. See, from all that research I did, I found out that different familiars require different amounts of mana. You can't totally control what you get, but the sort of… tier… of familiar you get is determined by how much mana you can feed into the ritual."

"Okay, but with how much mana you throw into everything you cast, isn't it still going to overcharge any familiar you summon?" Yang asked.

Jaune shook his head and shuffled through one of the folios, revealing sheet after sheet of vellum filled with his own tight, small writing. "But that's the thing! I found records from the Magi War of really powerful familiar summons; summons that actually require a constant supply of mana."

The Patch sisters both leaned over the pages, trying to make something out of Jaune's nearly indecipherable script.

Ignoring that they weren't following, Jaune chuckled giddily. "This is going to solve all my problems: I'll get a powerful familiar and prove I'm not a useless mage, and that familiar will constantly be draining my mana, which will probably take some of the pressure off and I won't overcharge every spell anymore."

Ruby spoke up, voice hushed in shock. "Does that word really say what I think it does?"

Jaune nodded. "Uh-huh. I'm going to summon an Angel."

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**AN:** So yeah. A year-long hiatus from all writing has left me with a lot of ideas sitting around collecting dust. Not only that, but I need to get into the habit of writing again without letting all my rust tamper with my existing work both fanfiction and original.

Thus, I've pulled an old idea out of mothballs and letting it out into the world to see if I'm back in fighting form so to speak.

For those who are long-time fans, you've likely seen me discuss this idea before. It's lost a lot of its Familiar of Zero elements as its been marinating in my head, especially since I've been inspired to play with magical systems by my writing idol, Brandon Sanderson.

Expect a lot of slice-of-life and worldbuilding both on the Beacon and Hell sides of this, especially when (totally not a spoiler alert) Ren and Nora among others are on the demon side.

Don't worry thought, fans of my other works: everything will be updating soon. Even old stuff like Azure Renaissance and Phantom Reboot. It took me years to finish What Grows in Deception, but it did get finished. As will they all.


	2. The Summoning

**The Familiar of Arc**

**Chapter 2 – ****The Summoning**

"An Angel!?" Yang shout-whispered while using one arm to steer both Jaune and Ruby to one side of the hall. "Are you insane? There's a reason no one tries to summon things like that anymore! There's a reason there's paintings all over this place with Angels and Elder Dragons and Phoenixes _destroying cities_. This is Magi War stuff, Jaune."

Trying to hang on to his master plan, Jaune frowned at her. "Then why isn't it forbidden? I found all this stuff in the general library after all. Nothing's stopping anyone from making a spell like this except there's not a lot of people who have the mana to make it happen."

Ruby clasped her hands together pensively. "It might not be forbidden but… I don't know, Jaune; it might still be dangerous."

Jaune shook his head if only to mask the tension his two friends were fostering in him. "It's not dangerous. If it works, then the Angel will be my familiar, and familiars can't purposefully hurt their summoner." Doubt still crept into his voice as he added, "And if it doesn't work, then… well there's not Angel. And no familiar."

He held up the folios and stared deeply at them. No matter what, he had to keep believing that they meant something. That they were the point where his fortunes would turn.

And then those fortunes exploded into a storm of flapping tan sheets as someone slapped the folios out of his hands. Jaune watched in horror as seventy-two hours of hard work splatted to the floor all around him. His eyes snapped up to lock onto the culprit.

If he didn't hunch so much, Jaune was not a slight individual. As a lordling from a rugged country, he'd grown up with hearty meals and plenty of exercise in the forms of riding, hunting, swimming and the energetic dances of rural folks. Which is to illustrate a point about Cardin Winchester when Jaune had to look up to lock eyes with the strapping heir apparent of the much-lauded lineage of warriors.

No one would have connected Cardin to the traditional image of a mage from looking at him. He was built like a siege engine with wide shoulders and a chest made barrels feel scrawny. That he had dressed for the Summoning in a faux military dress uniform completed with gold filigreed shoulder pads and a russet greatcoat that matched his hair, only added to the air of martial mighty.

Seeing Jaune's expression of angst drew a guffaw from the larger man. "An Angel? For a hedgie like you, might as well call on the Old Voices. Even the forces of all Creation couldn't make you anything more than a wasted seat that could have gone to someone with actual talent, Arc." A small group of people Jaune only knew by their association with his self-appointed tormentor had formed behind Cardin to laugh and jeer.

Cardin smirked at Jaune's speechlessness. "You know what I think you're gonna end up summoning? Some serf in a costume your family hired to keep you from throwing yourself off the Tower Argent like you ought to. It'd certainly save time, effort and food expenses."

"Accelerando!" There was a flash of red and Ruby briefly became a blur that streaked in an erratic pattern around and past everyone before once more resolving into herself in roughly the same place she'd been standing. She was holding a wad of pages alongside the folios they belong to. Eyes narrowed at Cardin, she offered them to her friend. "Don't listen to him, Jaune. You're a mage and you belong here."

This drew a snort from Cardin. "Hiding behind a kid now, Arc? Can't say I'm surprised."

"No," now Yang stepped up. She was only a little shorter than Jaune, but managed to loom at Cardin all the same. "He's got friends that are here for him." She looked past his shoulder at the gaggle of onlookers who had gone silent once she approached. "Another thing you _don't_ have."

Before Cardin could say something else and dig himself deeper, she cracked her knuckles and added, "Keep in mind: we can't cast spell on one another on school grounds or in town. But I don't _need_ spells to hurt you bad, Winchester. No weapons either. So either walk away now, or slink away in a minute holding your teeth."

Cardin's jaw worked; part of him refused to let this go. Despite appearances, however, Cardin wasn't a stupid man. He knew that in that direction lay the way of pain. Instead he snorted, leaning to the side to catch Jaune's eye as the smaller man worked to reorder his scattered papers.

"I prefer dealing with someone personally, not fighting with their mommy." He suppressed a flinch as Yang drew back her fist and managed to retain his dignity in striding off surrounded by his tittering retinue. "Good luck at the summoning Jaune-y."

"That guy…" Yang growled through her grinding teeth. Her fist was still clenched.

"Forget him," Jaune sighed, having finally reassembled his two folios into a semblance of order. One up side to his exhaustion was that he was numb to Cardin's insults. What little focus he had was all on the upcoming summoning. "Let's just get out there and get our familiars, okay?"

The Patch sisters exchanged concerned glances, but there wasn't a lot they could do to deter him. Mulling over their options on what to do if things went wrong, they followed behind as Jaune struck off purposefully toward the courtyard.

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What the first year students called the 'courtyard' was one of several that was part of the sprawling former fortress complex that was Beacon Academy. On official maps of the grounds, it was called the South Garden. Beds of spring flowers adorned the well manicured green lawn, accented by three ponds and perfectly-groomed shade trees. Stone tables and benches were placed in places to grant the most pristine view of the various vistas.

Songbirds filled the air with their music and a virtual rainbow of butterflies were in evidence. A trio of ducks had discovered and claimed one of the ponds, having beat others this far north.

Near the base of Beacon's Tower Ferrous stood a particularly large cheery tree. Magic kept it in bloom year-round, allowing it to spread a constant canopy of white over a polished granite slab at its base. Arrayed there to await the students, were the all of the professors who taught classes to first years alongside the venerable headmaster; a wizard known by a single name: Ozpin.

Rumors abounded about the man and it wasn't hard to see why: He looked to be perhaps in his fifties and prematurely gray and yet he'd been the headmaster of Beacon for over seventy years and had been known as a combatant in the War some years before that. And then there were the tales of how he'd taken his position; how the old headmaster simply disappeared from the eyes of both man and history and been replaced on the same night.

There were other stories besides—Ozpin was a living legend—and yet he looked so… normal. Standing maybe six feet tall with a mildly weary slump to his shoulders and faint worry lines around the eyes and mouth alongside a full head of snowy hair being the only evidence of his age. Instead of wizardly robes, he wore a more contemporary suit in dark hunter green with a lighter undershirt and round spectacles of gold wire.

He stood at the center of the line of professors, between Goodwitch, the Elements of Magic professor and Professor Watts, the Magic Technology instructor. Joining them were Professor Peach, instructor of Eldritch Flora and Fauna, Professor Port, Keeper of Mythic Lore, and Doctor Oobleck, the resident Historian, each representing the top of their field tapped to pass on their talent and knowledge to the next generation.

Slowly, the students began to filter in, taking their places standing before their educators.

"This is so exciting!" Ruby squealed, trying to keep her voice down to a respectable level.

Yang ruffled her hair, smiling jovially. "Yeah, it's a big step. After our familiars, we'll be getting our wands, then our rings and then we'll be full fledged mages… magi… whatever."

Jaune couldn't even find anything to say. He'd been working so hard for this. Even now, every fiber of his being wanted nothing more than to rest, but he mustered all this will to focus on the accomplished magi before him and on the summoning he would have to complete.

At length, the first year students settled down and Ozpin stepped forward. He gave no preamble, merely launching directly into addressing the point at hand. "In a mage's life, a familiar can be many things. A companion. A loyal defender. A spy. A research assistant. Even in some cases, nothing at all. Statistics say that even though we traditionally speak of familiars as boon companions who share a special bond, a handful of you will ultimately abandon the servant you summon here today. I cannot help to find that disappointing… but unsurprising."

That set off a murmur among the students at the bluntness of his statement. Yes, everyone could and did observe that, for example, Professor Watts and Doctor Oobleck didn't have familiars, and many knew other magi besides who didn't. No one ever really brought such things up in polite society though. It was akin to observing out loud that they hadn't seen someone's wife around lately when one didn't know if that was due to illness, divorce or foul play.

Whether he didn't notice or didn't care about the reaction, Ozpin just plowed on.

"Nevertheless, this rite you take on today will solidify your place in the world. It will mark you forever as a keeper of ancient knowledge and the bearer of myriad responsibilities. Responsibilities not only to your respective houses and nations, but to the world at large. You are stewards of the ancient power handed down to us by the Voice from afar. Do not take this lightly. And do not take the creatures you call here today for granted. They will come from every corner of reality and regardless of awareness, with shoulder a burden akin to your own."

He let silence reign before stepping aside and nodding to Goodwitch. "We shall now proceed with the summoning in order of your marks in the first semester; top marks first."

Unfurling a scroll as she stepped forward, Goodwitch looked out over the crowd of students, not needing to read the first name as there was no doubt who it was. "The first summoner of this year shall be Weiss Schnee."

There was a scattering of polite applause as the Heiress strode confidently to stand before the class and her instructors.

Holding her wand at the ready, she took a deep breath before launching into a chant that sounded less like language and more like the song of a rare bird. The wand wove through the air, trailing blue-white sparks that slowly drew a sigil. Soon, Weiss had threw herself into full-body movement, dancing in a tight circle and drawing reinforcing symbols with her wand.

Color began to drain from the world. The already cool air became frigid.

Then with a sound like shattering glass, the air above her broke apart, leaving a jagged hole in the sky through which alien stars glimmered. Weiss stopped moving, wand and eyes alike upraised as one of those stars descended.

Distance shrank and clarity increased. What once appeared to be a point of light grew to been something roughly humanoid but made of crystalline ice borne aloft by wings that resembled the snowflake crest of Weiss's house: a Frost Sprite.

Surrounded by a thing fog of cold and condensation that swiftly turned to snow around it, the sprint came to land on the tip of Weiss's wand. There was a brief flash and, if anyone but Weiss had been close enough to notice, they might have seen the actual snowflake crest of House Schnee become emblazoned on the tiny creature's chest.

A more spirited round of applause followed. The best among them in terms of grades had shown them it could be done. Now more than ever, the students were eager to meet their own boon companions.

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The ceremony entered its second hour and most of the students had moved off to various corners of the courtyard to get to know their newly summoned familiars.

The common theory that familiars reflected aspects of their summoners was borne out in many of the pairings: Cardin was not the master of a Arma Hawk; a large, cruel-looking raptor with metallic feathers and talons, while Blake Belladonna, daughter of the retired spymaster Ghira of the Menagerie Islands, had called upon an umbral mote, which immediately vanished into her shadow and appeared to have animated it.

Then again, Ruby had ended up with something resembling a chubby penguin with silvery scaled where the black feathers should be. It stood on stubby legs with flat, webbed feet, and its weirdly supple beak emitted sounds similar to a kitten.

Professor Port declared it to be a legendary Penguilin; a mighty warbeast, capable of great speed and agility, but no one was ever certain what stories were true when it came to him. He was confirmed to have slain many dangerous beasts, but on the other hand, he claimed to have slain Hell's Iron General as well.

The might of scaley kitten-birds aside, the big winner most would agree was Yang. Her summons had been answered by a young Golden Serpent Dragon, a regal and sinuous beast twice as long as a horse and capable of flight, fire breath, and great strength.

Everyone had called and been answered by their familiars.

All except Jaune.

He'd been on the very edge of nodding off standing up when Goodwitch's voice calling his name cut through the air. His head snapped up and his hands gripped the folios even more tightly. What had been a tight throng of students had thinned out dramatically since he'd last looked around.

Though he immediately regretted it, he briefly locked gazes with Goodwitch. Her expression was unreadable at least to him, but that offered no comfort. Disbelief or disappointment might have sparked a drive in him, or some form of encouragement could have been bolstering. But such a carefully marshaled expression was just a mystery he didn't need his easily distracted mind trying to solve just then.

"Hey!" He glanced off to the side where Yang and her dragon were lazing in a sunny patch of grass; Yang barely visible due to be lounging within her familiar's coiled body. The moment he acknowledged her, she raised a fist in solidarity. "Make us proud, Jaune!"

"You can do it!" Ruby appeared from the other size of the dragon, holding her penguilin like a child holding a teddy bear.

"Muyah!" added her familiar, waving a flipper and making Jaune wonder how smart the creature actually was. While never capable of actual speech barring mimicry or telepathy, some familiars were known to be exceptionally intelligent. Even ones that didn't look it.

With his friends supporting him, Jaune stiffened his back and marched up to the gathering of professors. This time, he didn't make the mistake of looking at any of them and instead focused on opening the folio containing his summoning ritual.

It took a second of blinking to keep the letters from blurring together in his weary sight. He took the opportunity to take a deep, cleansing breath.

This was it: the defining moment of everything he'd dreamed off since the moment he was offered the possibility of studying to become a mage. One chance to turn the ill fortune he'd found at Beacon around.

Failure would mean returning to his family's estate in shame. The sixth child of eight, there was no place for him there but to be some menial functionary whose only real worth lay in the possibility of a political marriage.

So failure wasn't an option.

An attempt to untangle the sleeve of his blazer from his wand must have looked like a dramatic flourish to those watching even though it was just another symptom of his nerves and strain.

As he began the preliminary gestures with the wand, a gentle wind began to swirl around him. Sparks of sky blue crackled along the path of the wand and high above, the wispy clouds began to circle.

Practically vibrating with power, Jaune began to read his incantation. "Let the winds of destiny carry my call across the Outer Realms. Let my will extend to the planes above. Into the chaos, I extend my hand of friendship. Heed my call, O thou mighty Angel who shall stand beside me in the face of all Evil."

One handed, he flipped pages and dove into the meat of the incantation, which was written in the ancient language of the Voices. Due to the power inherent to that tongue, he hadn't practiced them before, but a few syllables in and forming them began to feel natural.

Too natural.

In fact, they seemed to be spilling from his lips as if on their own. As if he wouldn't be able to stop if he wanted to.

Alarmed, he realized he wasn't even reading from the page anymore, and when he looked, another revelation awaited him: the page wasn't one from his summoning ritual, but his treatise on the Old Voices which Ruby must had accidentally mixed in with his ritual. Specifically, he was reading several lines of translations and the mimeographed image of a woodcut featuring famously _untranslated_ texts. Texts whose flowing, scrawled words he somehow knew he was speaking.

Confusion and horror warred in his mind and all the while he continued to recite some frightful amalgam of his constructed ritual and whatever was depicted on the woodcut.

It might have been his imagination, but he felt a warmth come over his wand hand. It felt as if another hand had gently come over his and was subtly guiding his gestures.

The pattern he and his unseen benefactor wove began to draw upon his mana, swiftly flaring into visibility and becoming a blaze in the air above him larger than the span of three carriages abreast. Arcs of electricity began to crackle and dance between the curves and angles. The wind had built into a strong gale.

Everyone in the courtyard was taking notice now. Those who had classes with Jaune were taking cover.

Finally, the built up energy in the pattern reached a critical mass. Red and yellow and purple, dozens of small sparks converged and became a singular mighty bolt that jagged skyward with a deafening clap of thunder. Branching fingers of power tore the sky and rent it asunder.

What was once blue with swirling clouds gave way as if a gigantic painting was being burned away. In its place was a night sky filled with sanguine stars arranged into alien constellations.

It was at this point that Goodwitch had seen enough. Whatever this was, it was a miscast on an order she'd never even heard of. And miscasts always had a way of delivering a backlash upon the caster.

Jaune Arc was not her best student. There was potential there if he ever learned to properly apportion his mana, but even if there wasn't; even if he were equally gifted in magic as a prize pig, he was her student. It was a sacred duty handed down by no one other than her own moral code to protect him.

A swift motion had the familiar length of rolled leather in her hand and a pattern for her most definitive counterspell set in her mind. She would have cast too, if only a strong if calloused hand hadn't closed over her wrist. The death glare she turned on Ozpin would have rocked a giant back on his hills, but the venerable mage met her gaze unflappably.

"This is no miscast," he said plainly, looking up at the unfamiliar sky that had the students in equal amounts panic and awe. "This… is something else. Let us give the young man his opportunity."

Goodwitch gave him another glare, but acquiesced to his experience. Her gaze returned to the sky. She was just in time to see one of those crimson stars falling straight toward the courtyard.

It struck like the meteor it was; trailing a pillar of fire as it impacted near the base of Tower Auric. The shockwave uprooted decorative trees out to ten feet all around. And at the heart of it, there stood a figure.

Iron and bronze glowed a dull red; thick, intricate armor plates that slid over each other as a lone figure straightened from the kneeling position it had been in on arrival. Silk the color of dark blood around their waist drifted in the heat-driven wind, seemingly untouched by the flame. A ribbon of identical coloring wafted from just below the head of a formidable longspear clutched in the figure's right hand while the left held a burnished bronze shield that glowed with the same heat as the armor.

Even at a such a distance, it was possible to see the glow of two fierce, green eyes behind the heavy visor of its helmet, the back of which sprouted a crimson plume so long that it almost went down to the back of the armored warrior's knees.

But all of that was undercut when a pair of wings unfurled to a span of nearly twelve feet of ebon feathers that stirred up the sparks from the burning grass and foliage and swept them into a constellation of embers around them while banishing the hellfire of its arrival.

Even a novice of the mystic arts such as Jaune knew what kind of creature he beheld. The scourge of mankind, the gods' lament: a demon.


	3. The Familiar

**The Familiar of Arc**

**Chapter ****3**** – ****The Familiar**

There followed a moment of the most oppressive silence Jaune had ever experienced in his life.

His fellow students—those who hadn't already fled the courtyard—were now too dumbstruck by what they were witnessing to say or do anything. Perhaps their senses of self-preservation were telling them not to do anything to draw attention to themselves. Or maybe it was instead some primitive part of their brains hoping against hope that a demon's sight was based on movement and so when faced with a fight or flight response chose 'freeze'.

In any event, the staff members behind him—experienced magi all—were similarly silent.

The demon itself stood for a moment, raising its head to the sky to watch as the wound Jaune's ritual have burned into it mended and the unknowable night that had been there was returned to a now inappropriately cheery blue.

Sunlight returned to the courtyard, but the song of birds and the chitter and chirps of various insects and frogs Jaune hadn't noticed were even there until their absence didn't.

As if it had been waiting for this sign, the demon flourished its spear once and stowed it on its back, following it swiftly with the shield. Thus disarmed, it lowered its arms to the sides with the palms open and facing forward and began to slowly stride toward Jaune and the knot of staff members.

In his peripheral vision, Jaune saw Goodwitch start to step forward. Being one of the strict disciplinarian's less than stellar students, his ears could recognize the sound of her wand starting to carve through air. Something stopped her and drew her backward out of even the edge of Jaune's senses.

"No," he heard Ozpin say in a low, grave voice. "You are accomplished, but if you show this being aggression, you will die. Screaming."

This made the tiny hairs stand up on the back of Jaune's neck. What exactly had he brought into this world? He'd wanted an Angel; a divine being of kindness and light. How had things gone so wrong? How bad would they get now that a demon walked the world thanks to him?

His thoughts were interrupted by Professor Port loudly clearing his thought. "Then it falls to me then. Worry not, Ozpin, I've dealt with their ilk before."

Jaune flinched. Everyone knew that Port loved telling tall tales. While it wasn't up for debate that the old man had participated on the War and been decorated, but he never really told stories from the war. No, he preferred to chronicle his adventures after the war, ones where there was little corroborating evidence and he was the center of a storm of impossible heroics.

It never occurred to Jaune that Port might believe his own lies. Or that Ozpin would accept them to the point that he didn't offer a word of caution when he'd physically restrained Goodwitch. He watched helplessly as Port trundled forward. The old man's mustaches were all aquiver in the way they went when he was eager for something—like lemon pudding day in the cafeteria.

He met the demon at the point where it had come three quarters of the way toward Jaune, hooking his thumbs in his lapels and drawing himself up to his full height. "Ahem-hem-hem. Good day to you, demon. I am going to have to ask you to come no further.

To Jaune's shock, the demon stopped about two arm's lengths from Port and performed a shallow bow.

Then it spoke. There were many expectations Jaune might have had for a demon's voice: booming or raspy, echoing or the whispers of myriad tortured voices. Instead, it was… pleasant and clearly feminine (not that he knew whether demons had genders or sexes) even while muffled and reverberating from inside its helm.

"Hello again, Master Port."

This brought Port up short and his eyebrows rose so high that they disappeared into his hairline. "We've met before?"

"Not personally," said the demon, "But I was present to witness you destroying my predecessor to the title of Iron Hell General." The silence was shattered by a wave of murmurs this drew from the students. The presence of a demon in the world of humanity was overshadowed by the idea that one of Peter Port's stories was true.

Leaning aside, the demon cleared Port's bulk enough the lay eyes on Jaune. "But I have no quarrel with you, Master Port. This is no invasion; I was invited. My business lies with the one called Jaune Arc."

A hearty laugh made Port's shoulders bounce up and down and his belly jiggle. "Ho ho! Of course, of course. You answered the familiar summons. Why didn't I consider?"

Because that was insane and horrifying, Jaune thought ruefully. Maybe the ritual hadn't really summoned the demon, but instead made the world go mad. The evidence of such continued to mount as Port stepped aside and gestured expansively toward him with one beefy paw.

"Ah yes, then by all means. I suspect the young man is eager to meet you."

The newest indignity (at least in Jaune's minds) was that he couldn't glare at Port for that because the demon was watching and he didn't see his future extending past the end of his nose if he offended it. And then he felt guilty when the sound the demon then emitted was something akin to one of his sisters upon seeing a dessert that she knew she's enjoy.

He had to admit that it was certainly a more creative torment than the standard image of roasting mortals over flames and poking them with pitchforks.

"Thank you, Master Port," said the demon before resuming its inhumanly graceful journey toward him.

No one else moved to intercept it. Everyone just watched as the tension in the air made Jaune feel as if it were becoming difficult to breathe.

Just like with Port, the demon stopped outside of arm's reach. He hadn't noticed when it was confronted by Port because even in his later years, Port was a bear or a man; but despite its intimidating presence, the demon didn't tower over him. In fact, they were of a height. Jaune may have even been a bit taller.

Up close, he could make out how truly complex the thing's armor was: every plate composed of smaller interlocking pieces that moved like supple leather. He realized he was staring only when those pieces in the helmet and gauntlets began to slide over one another like the components of a puzzle box. Metal glided over metal with the sound of thousands of tiny knives being drawn.

Jaune expected livid red skin as rough as bark. He feared flesh like old leather, desiccated by the oven-heat of Hell. He imagined something rotten and oozing yet refusing to die.

What he did not expect was a smooth, olive complexion. Complementing it was a pert nose and thin lips drawn in a modest, almost pensive expression. The eyes that glowed with malevolence inside the helm dimmed in natural light, leaving vivid green irises that had a demure kindness to them.

Without the helmet keeping it in place, what he'd assumed to be a tassel unfurled into a coif of unnaturally scarlet hair that spilled to the small of her—'her' being the word Jaune put to the demon's undoubtedly feminine appearance—back.

At the same time, the ridges of the helm were now shown to have been concealing a pair of glossy black horns that emerged from her forehead and curved closely along her scalp to little over halfway to the back of her head. Combined with the black wings, they served as a reminder that this was no human woman.

"Hello Jaune," she said so softly that he imagined no one else could hear.

There was nothing else for it. If he ran, he imagined she'd be honor bound to give chase or maybe pinion him to something with that spear. Politeness was the correct tact to follow here. "Hello… umm…" Or maybe he could be so clumsily pathetic that he wouldn't be worth killing, he commented internally.

If the demon agreed with that assessment, she didn't show it. Instead, she inclined her head slightly. "I am Pyrrha Nikos. Formerly the Tyrant's Spear," at this she gestured to an emblem molded into the gorget at the throat: a circle pierced through by a spearhead, "Now holder of the title Iron Hell General. I have a question for you."

"Y-yeah?" Even he couldn't blame himself for the bland response. This was all too strange and stressful and he was feeling even more physically drained than ever since casting the spell. Adrenaline was all that was keeping him standing.

The demon—Pyrrha—observed him for a moment with that same pensive, almost shy look that was misplaced on any demon, much less a General. The Generals were legendary figures who featured as the final antagonists in fairy stories where only in the most optimistic recitations did the heroes score a victory larger than merely sending the General in question back to hell.

So the question that followed was even more baffling to Jaune's poor, abused mind. "Did you mean it?" She noticed the confusion on his face and added, "In your incantation, you said you extend your hand of friendship. I will not bind myself to one who will use me; who cares nothing for my thoughts and feelings. Hell has enough of that on its own. So: did you mean it? If I am to be your familiar, will our bond be one of mutual loyalty and friendship?"

"I…" Jaune found himself transfixed by the look in her eyes. It wasn't one of concealed intention or coercion. Instead he found in them a spark of hope and longing. It didn't feel wrong anymore to extend his hand. "Yeah. I don't know why you would want to be friends with someone like me, but I'd be glad to be your friend."

Pyrrha beamed. Something from Hell should not have been able to radiate such such happiness, but she did. "That would be grand. I agree to your accord then." She reached out and gripped his forearm in a military fashion. He reflexively did the same and felt a jolt of energy.

Glancing down, he was just in time to see a what he could describe as liquid sunlight tattoo his family crest—a pair of golden crescents, one inside the other—across the back of Pyrrha's hand. Same as every other familiar throughout the rest of the day, she now bore the sign of her erstwhile master.

But the energy didn't stop there. Light danced across the back of his own hand and where it touched, the circle-and-spearhead emblem from Pyrrha's gorget appeared.

Jaune didn't have time to wonder at this though, as with that final expenditure of energy, he had nothing left to give. His vision faded gradually to a point and his limbs said 'no more'. Abruptly, he slumped toward the ground. The haze of exhaustion closed in as string hands caught him under the arms, slowing his now-inevitable descent.

Professor Goodwitch's voice came from somewhere behind him; so close that in any normal situation he'd have been jolted into a panic. But now, he could only listen.

"I have my doubts that this was entirely intentional, Mr Arc, but if you were attempting what I believe you were… well done. Exemplary marks."

He reached the ground. And from there, even listening swept beyond his reach.

RWBYRWBYRWBY

He didn't dream. No phantasms of his subconscious haunted him, but nor did he receive any prophetic visions. The staff had warned them that becoming more refined in their magical studies would make both more likely, but so far Jaune hadn't noticed any change.

Instead, he came to slowly, noticing a slight pressure and warmth along the side of his left temple. This he noticed only faintly though the packed wool of lethargy. Sometimes Yang would complain about 'sleeping too hard' when she came to breakfast looking more tired than she'd been the night before. He could commiserate, though at least he didn't feel drained to such a debilitating level as he had before.

Slowly, ever so slowly, his other senses started to come around.

He was lying on his back on something firm yet yielding. Where his exposed skin touched it, he felt that stiff, scratchy upholstery people placed in their sitting rooms and places of business had in their waiting areas to discourage visitors from getting too comfortable.

A slight breeze made itself known every once in a while and what felt like dappled sunlight as filtered through leaves moved over him.

Oh yes; and his magical reserves… His family had a fountain in their garden; his magic as it stood now reminded him of those times when the staff emptied it for cleaning. There were a few dregs lingering there, just within reach, but most of the vast well he was used to was depleted.

He felt his lip curl. He'd been right on that assumption at least. Never mind that his summoning had been answered by not just a demon, but from the sounds of it, a powerful and destructive one… who was oddly polite and seemingly desiring of friendship…

In his weary state, his train of thought veered off only to be interrupted as the noise he only just in the moment realized he'd been hearing resolved into voices.

"...to have worked, but at least he looks more content now." the Iron Hell General's voice came from somewhere above his head. She punctuated this with a yawn, continuing her record of acting too far outside her expected character for his comfort.

"According to his classmates, he's been awake for the better part of three days. The amount of vitality you can safely transfer to him won't be enough to relieve him of that kind of torpidity entirely. He should be well enough to regain consciousness shortly."

That was Goodwitch, somewhere toward his feet and to the left. The sound of clinking came from the same direction, jogging his memory enough to recall tea cups and recognize the scent of the strong black tea his father preferred in the air.

What should have been 'I'm awake' left his lips as 'Ahmahwah' and a dull ache pounded in his head. Opening his eyes didn't seem like a good idea at the moment.

He focused himself, working his jaw and swallowing to work up some saliva to wet his dry tongue; then he tried again. "I'm awake." The voice he heard sounded less like himself and more like an old man after a lifetime of sootheleaf and chaw use had ravaged his throat and lungs.

Goodwitch made a sound he associated with approval—one he'd never heard directed toward him before. "Either your familiar is more adept at using the abilities bestowed by your bond, or you are made of sterner stuff than most, Mr Arc. Welcome back to the world of the waking."

She sounded almost friendly—or motherly. Jaune couldn't really tell because it sounded so alien to her voice and demeanor.

Willing his leaden body to move, he moved his legs off the side of whatever he was lying on and sat up. His heavy head hung below his shoulders as he forced his eyes to open. Against all sense, he made out a blurry patch of grass at his feet.

Confusion alone gave him enough of a jolt to come fully awake.

At last, he was able to take in his surroundings. He was sitting on a divan with cushions in an emerald and bronze brocade pattern. To his right was a matching two-seater divan upon which sat Goodwitch, cutting the very figure of proud poise with a cup and saucer in her hands.

Pyrrha—who at this point he was certain was trying to drive him mad with her behavior—was seated primly in an over-stuffed arm chair with the same pattern as the other furnishings. She was watching him with a sleepy yet curious expression.

Aside from the seating, there was a fine oak table with a round top sporting a tea set including a steaming kettle. He felt it was a nice complement to the rest of the furnishing—but none of it belonged in the sunlit glade it had been arranged in. His head ached just a tiny bit more.

Goodwitch let him goggle a few moment more mercifully providing an explanation. "You are in a sanctum of the Tower Braza. One created by Headmaster Ozpin himself. He rather likes the recreation of the great outdoors."

At the mention of the Headmaster, something in Jaune's stomach turned leaden. He'd never given much thought to anything but the benefits of his grand plan ton summon an Angel as his familiar. In the end, however, he'd called a Demon—and not just any lower rank beast but _the_ Iron General—into the world. There had to be consequences for that.

"He's going to expel me." It wasn't even a guess. What other option was there? Actually, he took that back: expulsion was the kindest thing the Headmaster could do. Maybe Ozpin would turn him over to one of the churches or bring him before the Royal Tribune for crimes against existence.

"On the contrary, Mr Arc,"

The Headmaster hadn't been there before that moment, Jaune was sure of that even ignoring the slight start Pyrrha gave. No sound, no disturbance of the light, not even a subtle change in the air announced the man before his voice. Now he was standing there, behind where Jaune was sitting.

Jaune craned his neck to look up at the man. His entire body tensed when their gazes met. There was something unnervingly calculating in the Headmaster's eyes that even his spectacles didn't temper. It made the younger man feel as if he were being disassembled like a pocketwatch.

With a calm and casual air, the Headmaster transferred his attention to a steaming clay cup held in both hands. It was a plain item that barely looked like the possession of such a powerful man. He took a long drink from it before strolling around the side of the divan.

"What you've done is of immense value to yourself, your school and your kingdom. You've managed something rather extraordinary on several levels. I would never expel such a rare talent." The old man smiled in a way that looked kind and grandfatherly if one ignored that it didn't touch his eyes. "In fact, we have much to talk about."


End file.
